Shipwright got a line, hanked it, stowed it, and tied up the twinge in her heart. Now was not the time.
The hope, then, was that the two of them together would somehow be a more tempting target for the crow-witch than the biggest coastal city on this side of the continent. Threatening enough, for long enough, that her eyes would be pulled past Hesper, along the coast, and up into the grey mountains beyond. Optimistic, to say the least.
Pulling that off meant appearing to have an ace in the hole. And now the closest thing they had to an ace in the hole was Thell.
The last damn place she wanted to go. That ghost-ridden rock calling her again.
Thell had seemed important twenty years ago, when she was young, and the wars had been about anger, and liberty, and blood and sex. Thell had seemed important right up until the point they’d helped the revolutionaries win. Right up to the point where the Empire of the Dead had fallen, its ghosts and spirits apparently scythed out from under it by Shroudweaver and Skinpainter. And then, in one glorious rush, that pair had somehow ushered in the foundation of the Republic with its rituals and its rites, its geometries. So much arcane window-dressing.
And the revolutionaries, the glorious revolutionaries, hadtaken the Emperor, and eaten him. Torn him limb from limb, and swallowed him down.
The revolution had seemed a little hollow after that. Of course, they’d had their justifications all ready. The symbolism of the act.
All she’d seen was people drunk on blood. Literally. Her stomach turns again at the thought, and she hears Heartshamer’s voice. ‘Feeling a little more foreign than usual?’
She twists some more rope under her hands, until the burn pulls her mind away. This is not the time for it.
Down on the docks, she watches Fallon stoop to whisper to Shroudweaver, sharing more of those secrets. Nothing changes. Both of them glance up at her and she waves laconically, before focusing on securing the water casks.
Ropecharmer’s done his job well. The ship rides low in the water, her belly full, the hold well-provisioned. There’s fresh fruit for the first leg of the voyage, and beyond that, salt meat, hard tack, furs, and black rope.
A corner has been set aside for Shroud’s weaving tools. Bright red thread, sharp needles, saltpetre, old bodies stacked like cordwood. She looks at them warily for a moment, like you would a sleeping snake, before she moves to the helm, ducking under rigging strung precisely across a bright canvas sky. Oh yes, Ropecharmer knows his work. The boards of the ship gleam, the brass spinners chuck and worry quietly on the high masts. For a few moments, all is as it should be, and her heart loosens at the thought.
At the prow, Ropecharmer watches her approach, his hair whipped sideways in the freshening breeze, one hand loosely on the ship’s wheel; a handsome boy. He smiles at the look on her face. ‘The sea’s always here.’
Shipwright nods. ‘Thank goodness. You have a list?’
‘Of people?’ he says, surprised.
‘Of people. Honestly, Rope, what do you take me for?’
He produces it within seconds. ‘Eighty new refugees, give or take.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought there’d be more.’
His shoulders twist awkwardly. ‘News got out we’re bound for Thell.’
Her voice is flat. ‘How?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s a big city.’
Shipwright thumbs her jaw thoughtfully. ‘So they know our heading?’
Ropecharmer is diplomatically quiet.
She moves brusquely, takes the list, runs her eyes over it. ‘There’s useful people on here. Physickers, soldiers, bloodworkers. Good work.’
Ropecharmer smiles proudly, ‘Thanks, Captain.’ He pauses. ‘There’s a lot of others that won’t come all the way north. But they don’t want to stay here.’
Shipwright watches him. Watches the slow rise and fall of his ribs, the determined set of his shoulders.Who did you lose?she thinks.Where did you leave them? A dock, a doorway, a grave?
She puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Case the harbour. Anyone waiting draws lots. We take fifty more, that’s it. Red stick means you get on.’
Ropecharmer’s hand comes up to meet her wrist briefly. She rests her eyes on it until it slinks back into a pocket. ‘Rope, listen. Anyone cheats, anyone steals, anyone bribes – they don’t get on. You take Fireholder and Cloudwatcher. You give them blades.Visibleblades. Big, ugly ones. Butyou, you run this.’
A question hovers on his lips. She taps him on the cheek with an open palm. ‘Maybe some kids, some families, some old sods that don’t deserve to be caught in this, maybe they’ll find red dye on their hands. Do you follow?’
Ropecharmer grins. ‘Clear as the deep blue.’
